


My True Love Hath my Heart

by Lxck



Series: Howlett - Holmes Universe [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Wolverine (Comics), Wolverine (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-01-30 05:10:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lxck/pseuds/Lxck
Summary: Following the wake of Holmes'and Watson's last case together and Watson's inevitable move into domesticity with his future wife, Holmes is left desolate and depressed. On his search for something unhealthy to consume, he happens across a mysterious man whose wrist healed remarkably fast. Logan might seem an asshole, but his backwards charm might just be enough to keep Holmes warm for Christmas.
Relationships: Logan (X-Men)/Sherlock Holmes
Series: Howlett - Holmes Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/465286
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. This Waking Nightmare Lingers

London, 1890  
Two Weeks to Christmas

Holmes never enjoyed the holidays. The weather was cold, the streets were crowded, cases were few, and his house was silent. Empty. Before that year, it was due to Watson visiting family, spending time with close relatives and old classmates. Now, he was settled into a new house with a new fancy and a new Christmas tradition to begin with his soon to be wife.

The detectives former roommate had of course made promises to visit for the season. But Holmes knew Watson's schedule now included visiting all of Ms. Morstan's family and his own, so when the good doctor thought he would be able to pop in on his once upon a time muse, Holmes didn't know. He didn't expect a visit.

And he never got one.

Even if he knew this would be the case, Holmes was still direly disappointed, and he remained slumped in his chair, ragged house coat draped over his legs as eyes of warm whiskey watched the first snow of the season adorn the window. A vial sat empty between his fingers, the last bits of questionable liquid happiness he could scavenge in the depressingly empty house. It hadn't been enough, and the cold claw of Watson's absence left the lonesome detective desiring something stronger than dregs of his drug compartment.

Stifling another deep sigh, Holmes dropped the vial and let it clatter to the floor as his hand then moved to press to his eyes. The chill that sat in his chest was impermeable, and spreading, and he feared if he stayed still a moment longer, he'd be frozen to the spot. His hand dragged to scratch his palm against the stubble above and around his lips as he stared at the frosting window. Then, with a sharp inhale, he stood. He was not going to spend a single night sober if he was to stay in this tomb of a home.

It took him no discernible time to be dressed to venture out into the winter twilight, his melancholy state disjointing his consciousness in medial tasks. Apparently some part of him still cared about appearances, forgoing the ratted knot of a housecoat for his black fleece, his cravat still tied and tucked in a suitable fashion as he walked down the street towards the nearest brewery.

He made it about a block before he abandoned the idea of a brewery and turned into a corner pub, grateful to be off the crowded street and in an area where every man he looked at bore the similar readings of any bar inhabitant. Low brow workers. Low education, high frustration, leery and unfulfilled in their current ventures. Holmes didn't take his time to survey the room, eyes low as he weaved his way to the bar and waved the tender over so he might quickly order the bottle he could afford and retreat back to his forced solitude.

But as his lips parted to speak his order, there was a hand on his back and a voice at his ear.

Again, time fragmented, slowing as Holmes' mind processed the touch and warmth of breath beside his ear. It was almost intimate, almost like Watson and he loathed how his first thought was an emotional response to something he desired than the facts of the situation.

"I owe this man a drink. Two whiskeys."

American, deeper tone, gruff. Not John. But familiar, even if their previous meeting was brief and in the throws of a fighting ring. It took a millisecond more of thought, and Holmes turned his eyes to the other man. Dark eyes, dark hair, and a smile like a wolf.

Their fight hadn't lasted long. Admittedly, Holmes had grown rather annoyed watching this man stroll around the ring, shorter than most other fighters but with an ego to make up for what he couldn't reach. The way he smirked like there was no one better than him had ignited a fire in the detective's stomach that had him entering the ring a moment later. After a quick altercation, Holmes left the ring with its other occupant holding a broken wrist.

Considering playing like he didn't recognize the man, Holmes instead nodded and let his fingers lace together as he leaned against the bar. "Ah. Yes. How is your wrist?"

The other man looked at the allegedly broken wrist, flicking it and curling his fingers into a fist, then turned his gaze back. "Feels fine to me."

Brows knit together, Holmes's lips thinned. The fight hadn't been that long ago, he thought, surely the wrist should still be mending. But, then again, he barely remembered dressing to leave the house twenty minutes ago. It must have been longer than he previously considered.

"Name's Logan." The man offered his once broken hand to Holmes, that smile receding to the smirk that had Holmes' blood run hot.

"Logan...?" Holmes asked, waiting for his surname as it was customary to call any other man by that rather his first. First names were inappropriate among anyone beside family and lovers. He took his hand, eyes flicking to look it over as he shook it briefly. It was like it had never been broken at all. His doctor must have been incredible. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Uh," He made a show of surveying the liquor arrangement before settling on a name. "Smithson."

"It's pronounced Smitheson." Holmes corrected with a roll of his eyes as he grudgingly took the offered whiskey from the bartender. "I spent time in their production factory for a case."

Logan didn't look apologetic for his obvious lie, and he gave a half shrug with the ever present smirk, watching Holmes as he drank. "Any people of booze are people of mine."

"Charming." Holmes allowed, deciding the hidden identity wasn't worth his time and effort and taking a long drink. Not that it would be difficult, looking at his clothes, the state of his boots, his obvious lack of permanent residence. The detective already had deductions of the man from their first encounter, he had hardly changed drastically in a week and a few days.

Days… Holmes paused, visibly pulling the drink from his lips and he watched Logan's reflection in the mirrored backsplash of the bar. Rent was always due the first of the month, he generally spent the night before making ends meet with smartly placed bets if his cases didn't fulfill the requirements. Defeating Blackwood and saving London didn't earn him quite the reward he needed, so he took to his usual pit fight.

That had only been a week and a half ago. And he had most certainly broken the other man's wrist to prove a point.

Setting the glass on the counter, Holmes turned his attention to Logan again, eyeing his wrist a second time. Watching as he held his drink with the ease of someone whose wrist was perfectly mended. A process that should take weeks-if not months- of recovery having only taken a fraction of the time.

By the way Logan's brows tipped up, he had been waiting for Holmes to pick up on the abnormality. "Little slow on the uptake, Lock."

It took a moment, Holmes closing his eyes briefly and shaking his head as he dissected that. Being called slow and having his first name shortened to a pet name in one breath had him reeling for a second. "Pardon?"

"You're the one the whole city is talking about, right? Stopped some 'wizard' or ancient evil, saved the city, big hero, right?" Logan tapped the edge of his nose as he sat back and pulled a cigar from his shabby vest. "I think the fight was unfair. Little ol' me, fighting the London hero himself. Don' help you cheated."

"Cheated. I have-"

"You rig the bets ta make a killing, jus' because the organizers are too stupid ta see you doin' it don' mean you ain' doin' it." Logan interceded before Holmes could make his argument. "It takes one to know one, bub. Usually the kind of game I run to get myself some spendin' money. You cost me a train ticket out of here." The stool beside him was kicked out. "Sit."

After consideration, Holmes slipped into the seat, fingers curling around the whiskey glass and he continued to watch Logan. It was the first time someone had noticed his tactics for easy money, and Holmes had earlier regarded Logan as a low brow, low intelligence sort of man. He was, perhaps, a smidge above average. "I'll be more than happy to see you on your way and help in getting you out of my city."

"Nah," Logan said with a shrug and finished his glass, watching Holmes out of the corner of his eye. "Decided to hang around and see what London has to offer. Likin' what I seen so far."

Trying to mask his disappointment in Logan's prolonged stay, Holmes nursed the last of his own drink, expecting to be done with it until Logan gestured for two more. Probably for the better, Holmes wasn't going to get any answers out of Logan without playing the long game. The man was cocky, toying with Holmes because he had little else to do. Logan was clearly homeless, living on the street and in King James' park judging by the dirt on his boots and the marks on his trousers.

And Holmed had an empty house and wallowing depression to return to, so why not play along.

His shoulders relaxed, exhaling as he knowingly took the bait, hoping to make headway with this sort of man as he took the second glass of whiskey and sipping it. "Utilizing another man's hubris doesn't mean I'm rigging the fights. I never cheated."

"You fought dirty." Logan countered immediately.

"As did you! It was meant to be a lesson."

"Yeah? What other lessons you wanna teach me, Lock?"

"Stop calling me that. You can address me as Holmes."

"Sure. I can." Logan smiled again as he leaned in, breath hot and laced with the bitter burn of booze. "But I won't. C'mon Lock, you ever think of letting your hair down?"

"It is not exactly customary to refer to another man by his first name." Holmes sighed, feeling like he was trying to educate the most behaviorally challenged adolescent London had to offer. "It's rude."

"It's called bein' friendly. You got any of those? Friends?"

That struck a nerve, and Holmes immediately pulled away, back stiff and hand suddenly tight on the glass he held. He swallowed, jaw shifting as his eyes burned with a fresh sadness. Tonguing the inside of his cheek, Holmes finished his drink and stood. "No. Not anymore."

Before he could leave the bar, Logan was at his back, the usual bravado dampened by a wave of guilt. The weight of Logan's hand at Holmes's back was just enough to keep the tears from falling, melancholy giving way for confusion as they stepped outside into the snow. Holmes turned, eyeing Logan's hand then catching his eyes, but before he could ask the other mans intentions, Logan scrambled to speak.

"I. I'm an asshole. I was tryin' to joke, I didn't know you… lost someone."

Holmes sniffed, pulling his coat tighter around him as if that could stave off the ever present chill of inevitable loneliness. "I didn't lose him. He… he left."

"That don't make it any better." Logan shook his head, hands shoved into the pockets of his tattered, second hand coat. Most likely a nervous response. "For what it's worth, it's his loss."

"I am…" Holmes began with a huff, head tipped up towards the snowfall. "Insufferable, as many have told me."

Logan allowed a tentative smirk again, stepping closer to Holmes. Close enough, the detective could feel his warmth. "I get that a lot, too. Hard to deal with, no one wants to give me the time of day."

"What makes you think I do?" Holmes's attention slid from Logan's eyes to his lips, then back hopefully before Logan noticed. From the man's smile, Holmes was certain he did.

"You ain't walked away yet, and you're lonely as hell."

"Charming." Holmes said again, shaking his head as he turned towards Baker Street. "You are ever so charming, Mr. Smitheson."

"Logan," He insisted, moving to Holmes's side so they walked shoulder to shoulder. "Call me Logan."

"I do not think we are acquainted enough to refer to one another so… casually."

Again, there was the hand at his back as if Logan was guiding him somewhere. "Then let me take you home and we can get acquainted enough."

If his intentions weren't clear before, they were now. Holmes, never really one for such unsavory ventures, found his eyes widening ever so slightly and a bone shattering heat suddenly striking through his body- through the cold Watson's absence had left. It was the first thing to successfully penetrate the chill, and God help him, the addict in Holmes was eager for more. Licking his lips, Holmes stepped away from Logan, worried the gesture would attract the wrong attention. But he held Logan's eyes before gesturing towards his walk home.

"Walk me home, then, Logan."


	2. I'm Reaching Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sexy Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only sexually explicit chapter. Proceed at your own risk.

The walk home had taken thrice as long as the walk to the pub, Holmes was sure, as he and Logan continued their back and forth on the walk home. Rather than rush in with deductions, Holmes allowed Logan the chance to tell him about himself, and a quick once over would confirm it truth or not. Most of what Logan said rang true. He was a younger brother, a veteran, a foreigner- Canadian originally, but spent enough time abroad the accent was lost, hence Holmes' original conclusion being American. Not that he'd ever admit he was wrong. When asked about his reason for the nomadic nature, Logan's answers became vague and while his interest was piqued, Holmes didn't press. Yet.

Reaching his flat, Holmes paused outside, Logan mirroring the action as he gave 221B a cursory glance. It was better than most places he stayed, because the look in Logan's eyes seemed to briefly suggest he was out of his depths shacking up with a man who could afford this property. Holmes was grateful for the chance to respond to Logan's visible thoughts. "I am renting. The only way I can make payments is by 'rigging the fights', remember?"

The reminder eased the tension in Logan's shoulders and he snorted a faint, "Yeah."

Seeing the cocksure fighter nervous helped Holmes' pride, but rather pick away at Logan's insecurity, he reached out to touch the man's arm. A simple gesture, but the best he could do while in public. "Come, it's warmer inside."

"That's what I like ta hear." Logan said, some brazeness returning to his smirk as he followed Holmes to the front door. The street itself was dark, the door way out of the ring of lamplight and Logan took the darkened corner to press closer, breath hot on Holmes's neck. It was a brief lapse in concentration, Holmes fumbling the key as his breath left him with a hard rush. The other man was so close, Holmes could feel the smile as it broadened against his neck, and he hurried inside.

Logan didn't even give Holmes a chance to catch his breath, hand replacing his lips on the detective's neck and hauling him in for a frenzied kiss the moment the door closed them off from the world. And it was everything Holmes wanted; someone to want him, someone who didn't value a public opinion over him. It might just be for the night, it might not even be for the whole night, but it was something. It was warm. Logan was warm.

Heart hammering against his chest, Holmes sank into the kiss, his own hand resting against the warmth of Logan's throat. He didn't mind the cold of the detective's hand, the hand on Holmes's neck sliding to lay over his hand. Like an innate need to chase away every chill, to fill Holmes with a whole new fire. They kissed in a naturally coordinated push and pull, Logan settling a hand on Holmes's waist to push him further into the darkened house. When Logan pulled away to speak, Holmes made a quiet noise of protest, lips swollen and tender from the passion.

There was an amused fondness in Logan's voice, thumb rubbing an arch against Holmes's hand to continue warming it. "You got a bedroom we can go to, or you gonna make me bend you over the staircase?"

"Upstairs." Holmes managed, taking the pause to collect himself and kick his shoes off. He started to take his coat off, but hesitated when it came time to pull his hand away from Logan. Unbearably touch starved, Holmes was concerned Logan wouldn't take his hand again if he pulled away now. Fortunately the other man took notice, and he laced fingers with the hand Holmes had already freed from his coat so he could free the other. Without bothering to hang his coat, Holmes stepped into Logan again, pressing closer to the warmth the man gave. "I don't… know if I have proper supplies."

"You got a kitchen?" Logan asked easily, sniffing loudly through his nose before pressing a brief kiss to the detectives lips. "You got oil. Go upstairs, start a fire, get warm. I'll get what we need."

Oh. It was that obvious how cold Holmes was. He found that rather embarrassing, like it was a weakness he should be ashamed of. On some level, he was ashamed that Watson's departure had left him so broken… before he could wallow in that thought, Holmes nodded briefly, squeezing Logan's hand once before reluctantly letting go to mount the stairs.

Living with Watson, he could never imagine bringing a man home. Bringing anyone home. Watson had been the only one Holmes wanted to be close to in any regard. But now he was the sole tenant of the quiet house, so he was free to bring what guests he pleased, and Logan was… interesting. Nice wasn't the right word, certainly not. But he was different in a way Holmes couldn't quite make out. It was driving him mad, really. Like he was trying to read something important about Logan, he was reading it, but he didn't know precisely what he was reading.

In his room, Holmes stoked the fire, wrinkling his nose as he took a quick look around his disarray of a living space. Did he even have a bed? He doubted Logan was one to mind, but it was still jarring to realize whomever entered this room would no longer be a permanent resident. Watson knew his every fault, and had put up with him as long as the doctor could handle it. Now, Holmes had to concern himself with what strangers would make of his organized mess.

"Cozy." Logan said, making Holmes jump at the sudden sound. How had he moved so silently? Holmes was usually acutely aware of everyone moving in the house, especially on the stairs. Looking to his nightly companion, Holmes found Logan holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a small bottle of oil in the other. His complexion must have blanched because Logan's voice softened. "You ever do this before?"

Against his better judgment, Holmes chose honesty. "Not with a man, no."

Considering that, Logan nodded, moving to the rug in front of the fire and making himself comfortable in a lounging position. He set himself up on one elbow, the oil and wine placed beside him. "Alright, and what makes you think you want this?"

"I've imagined it on several occasions, and found it more pleasing than my experience with women." Holmes said defensively, sitting beside Logan so the wine and oil sat between them. He held his hands out to the fire, sighing. "I am curious, if nothing else."

"Curious is good. Curious I can do." Logan told him, sitting up enough to pop the wine cork and offer Holmes the whole bottle. "Figured you could use this."

Holmes took the wine, unease setting in as he smelled the spout as if to detect poison. The gesture had Logan raising his brow.

"What kind of company you keeping you can't trust a bottle of wine?"

"Women." Holmes said flatly, but took a sip nonetheless.

Beside him, Logan barked a laugh, shifting closer so he could rest a hand on Holmes's leg. "Ain't that the fuckin' truth." He rubbed his thumb against the seam of Holmes's trousers, eyes moving over his frame. "We don't gotta do anythin' you don't wanna do, Lock. You're good company, with or without your clothes on."

Finishing a hearty sip that burned his throat and stomach, Holmes leaned in to close the gap between him and Logan, wanting the warmth of Logan's breath on his skin again. "I… don't entirely know where to start."

"You could start by tellin' me what you imagined." Logan smiled again, this time his gaze the one to dip to Holmes's lips and then back. "Or I could kiss you again."

God help him, his mouth went dry. Partially due to the alcohol consumption, but mostly due to his complete fascination with Logan. "Do that…"

Another bark of a laugh and Logan's lips were pressed against Holmes's. The wine was moved aside so they could move closer still, Logan cupping the back of the detective's neck, thumb brushing his ear. It was the sort of kiss that filled one's chest with a pleasant ache, a sudden calm easing any anxiety as the only thing that mattered was Logan. His lips a soft touch surrounded by stubble, his hands calloused but gentle and warm. Everything about the man was an incredible juxtaposition Holmes found himself undeniably drawn to.

The alcohol consumption finally caught up with Holmes. It made him bold as he moved forward to swing a leg over Logan, straddling his hips without breaking that sweet kiss. Logan's hands moved to his hips to keep Holmes balanced there, the kiss deepening as Holmes' lips parted to allow a pleased grunt.

Logan tasted like whiskey and cigars, smelled like pine trees and smoke wood, and his touch was warm. It was deeper than the surface touch, the possessive grip of Logan's hands on his waist, the graze of his teeth on his lip. Holmes belonged to him. The unspoken claim was endearing in a way, and Holmes found himself sinking further and further into a new obsession he was certain would bring about his own destruction. But the moment was so bitterly sweet, he didn't worry about the inevitable consequences.

In the next breath, Logan was opening Holmes' waistcoat, ripping his shirt to mouth searing kisses along his neck. The new path was rewarded with a low whimper that tapered into a moan, Holmes weaving fingers into Logan's dark curls. His hips rolled in response, providing a delicious friction for both of them. This, in turn, garnished a growl from Logan, the man grazing sharp canines against Holmes' neck before he fussed a bright mark there.

"Ah! Christ," Holmes' physiological response flooded his system with an intense need, a response no man or woman had ever warranted from him before. Expertly quick hands had Logan out of his shirt, fingers feeling a flawless chest… which was strange for a veteran. Watson had his fair share of battle scars, but Logan was completely unscathed.

There wasn't much time for pause, Logan utilizing the moment to relieve Holmes of his shirt and lavish a hot tongue against the newly exposed nipple. Another wash of incredible heat whisked away the scarless confusion as Holmes sank happily into the overwhelming desire. Arm wrapped around the small of Holmes's back, Logan turned them to press him into the carpet, mouth exploring every dip and curve of Holmes' chest. One hand stabilized him while the other pulled away his trousers and pants, fingertips trailing up Holmes' leg to the join and cupping his cock.

A hard gasp left Holmes' lips as his long ignored member received attention that ignited an intense burn in the bit of his stomach. Before he could rationalize what should happen next, he was surging up to taste Logan's neck, teeth catching his skin and worrying a pleasant mark. It was almost frenzied, the detective so overcome with desire and need, his body fell into a pattern he didn't know he could follow. An innate part of his being that responded to Logan's advances, submitting to him, yet consuming him in the same breath.

Dear God, and the way Logan moaned under the bite, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent home, filling every corner, chasing away every notion of emptiness there was. Holmes tipped his head, biting the other side of his throat while Logan dragged a hand against the detectives thigh. From the heavier breathing and the feel of Logan's quickened pulse under his tongue, it was clear Logan was being consumed by the same lust, and it was only a matter of time before he couldn't take anymore.

Arms wrapped around Logan's shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, and the man handled Holmes' weight with ease. One hand remained braced by Holmes' head while the other stroke his cock in slow pulls, thumb rubbing a circle around his exposed head and spreading precome along his velvet shaft. Giving enough attention to his neck, Holmes tipped his head and bit the corner of Logan's ear, moaning a low whimper only meant for him to hear. A pleasing sound to give him more. To take every part of him.

That did it. Holmes' breath at his ear drove Logan over the edge and he was pulling away to grab for the oil, messily slicking a finger to draw between the cleft of Holmes's ass. Finding the puckered skin of his entrance, Logan traced a teasing circle along the sensitive skin, doing everything he could to draw out another desperate whimper. Instead, he was given a breathy whine, partially nervous and partially debauched as Holmes rolled his hips down, taking Logan's finger inside of him. Now there was a soft grunt, and Logan didn't move apart from pressing his lips to his partner's throat, murmuring gentle encouragement. "Relax… relax, Lock, there ya go. That's it."

After hearing Holmes exhale and feeling the tightness of his ass lessen slightly, Logan began to press in and out of him, timing it to the way he stroked Holmes' cock. Laying back, Holmes displayed himself beautifully, hands in his own hair as his back arched off the carpet when Logan crooked his finger just so. He was completely lost in the moment, in the passion and heat of it all, and when he opened his eyes, those amber eyes shone with a heat that seemed to enrapture Logan entirely.

"Logan," Holmes murmured through swollen lips, their gaze locked in the heat of the moment. Using his name, saying it with a passion thick whisper. A plea. And it was in that second Holmes could read Logan clearly. Could read a vulnerability, a weakness, an affection there. It was then he knew they were ensnared in the same trap, tangled in an emotion neither had expected to be. Recentering himself on the physical feel of Logan inside of him, Holmes lifted his head to rest their foreheads together. "Logan, more."

"Yeah," The man said huskily, retracting his finger only briefly so he could slick two others.

As Logan pressed two fingers into him, Holmes cupped the back of his neck, hauling him in to press their lips together again. Emboldened by alcohol and the way Logan worshipped him, Holmes drew his tongue against Logan's lower lip, deepening the kiss as Logan finger fucked him with three fingers. He moaned into the kiss.

Soon after, Logan couldn't take anymore, pulling back to kick his jeans off and toss them aside. He took the moment, taking in the sight of Holmes laying there and admiring the way his skin flushed in his need. The way the fire illuminated every gorgeous dip of his chest. Holmes moved calculating eyes down Logan's frame, the heat somehow intensifying as his gaze settled on Logan stroking his cock. Licking his lips, Holmes sat up on his elbows, lifting his chin to meet Logan's eyes again to find him smirking that signature smirk.

"You can taste it next time," Logan promised, lowering to rest on his hand and gently press his forehead to Holmes'. "I want you."

Chest heaving, Holmes tipped his head back to kiss Logan. A light, gentle kiss, promising more as Logan's previous statement had. This would be a recurring experience. Logan wasn't leaving. It took another moment before Holmes realized Logan was waiting for his explicit consent, and he nodded wordlessly, swollen lips glistening from their kiss. With a soft exhale, Logan palmed his own dick again, head tipped to the side to press his lips against Holmes's ear and he eased into him.

Holmes tensed, but the groan against his ear sent a shiver of pure pleasure down his spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Then Logan murmured gentle encouragement, letting him relax before he began to move his hips in shallow thrusts. "It's alright, it's alright… that's good. Fuck, Lock, that's real good."

Several hard pants passed and discomfort gave way to pleasure, Logan's cock filling him and stroking nerves Holmes didn't even know he had. His arms wrapped around Logan, nails scratching at his back as his moan echoed through the room, punctuated by the sound of Logan's body moving into him. Above him, Logan pushed hands under Holmes, holding them together as they moved, whimpers and moans caught between them and only them. Falling again and again into the warmth of each other's embrace as the snow fell outside.

Tangled limbs and strangled moans settled into soft breaths and gentle whispers, thrusts shifting between frenzied and frantic to swaying and sweet. Time distorted again, but for an entirely different reason now, Holmes lost in the feel of Logan consuming him, Logan's entire being taking over his every thought. The might went on, and would have continued if Holmes hadn't bitten Logan's ear and whispered, "I want to feel you come."

There was no way Logan could ignore that, and he left another hickey on Holmes's neck before he pulled back to hold his hips, lifting him just right before he began to thrust harder. The whimpers became full shouts of ecstasy, Holmes splayed out as he took Logan's cock. He came first, back arching in his intense climax, mouth hanging open in a silent cry.

The sight must have been beautiful because Logan came shortly after, fully hilted inside of Holmes as he spilled into him. Warmth spread through him, seeping into the detective's tired muscles as his body relaxed into the rug, Logan collapsing beside him as he too was overcome with the afterglow. They lay beside one another, ragged pants becoming deep breaths and deep breaths slowly evening out as their fingers entwined. Light faded from the room as the fire began to die down, and Holmes shifted closer, arms weaving around Logan's chest as his head settled against his shoulder.

Holmes fell asleep there. Warm, content, accompanied by a man who may be a stranger in the morning but in the moment, he was his and only his.


	3. Rescue Me, Show Me Who I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

Morning crept through the mostly drawn curtains, somehow managing to find the one spot in the carpet Holmes was nestled in. There was a soft grunt, nose wrinkled and brow furrowed as the band of light shone over his closed eyes. He rolled to get away from the light, hand out to feel for his companion. When his hand touched nothing, he lifted his head, lips dipping into a frown. Logan was gone.

Of course he was gone, Holmes had been a complete idiot to think Logan was going to stay longer than a night. Sitting up, Holmes rubbed sleep from his eyes, trying to force away that creeping chill settling in his chest. Numbing his extremities to anything but an extreme pain. The detective considered it briefly, dragging a hand down his face before standing on aching legs. Last night hadn't been a dream, then, judging by the way his body protested being moved so early.

Even without a mirror, Holmes could feel the bruises Logan had left on his skin. A temporary visual, at least, that Holmes hadn't always been alone. He rubbed a hand around his neck, trying to count the marks before he gave up and tiptoed through the mess of a room to the shard of glass he used as a mirror. Passing by, he grabbed his tattered house coat from the back of a chair, throwing it on to try and do his best to get warm before he leaned against a table with one hand, holding the mirror in his other. Christ, Logan had done a number on his neck. But Holmes had given back as good as he got. Of that, he was pretty sure. Which meant there was a slight chance he was haunting Logan the way Logan was haunting him.

Slight chance? No chance. Holmes sighed as he set the mirror down to rub his face again. God, he had been stupid. So incredibly stupid. Gullible and naive and all because he was so pathetically lonely. Sinking down to sit in a remarkably uncovered chair, Holmes kept his face in his hand, trying to keep the impending self loathing at bay. What was he supposed to do next? Watson was still gone. And while Logan had been perfect for a night, he appeared to be gone as…

Holmes lifted his head, hand dropping to the table. He smelled coffee. Freshly made. Mrs. Hudson made tea, and she was seldom quiet when she moved through the house, making certain Holmes couldn't continue sleeping the day away. Confusion staved off the depression again, and Holmes stood to make his way back towards the door and descend the stairs.

Turning the corner at the bottom of the stairs, the nearly depressed detective did not expect to see his nighttime visitor remove a kettle from the fire lit stove, placing a skillet of beans in its searing place. Shirtless, Logan glanced over, that classic half grib brightening his entire expression at the sight of Holmes in nothing more than his house coat. The smile warmed Holmes almost instantly and the tension in his shoulders eased.

"Didn't expect to see me?" Logan chimed as he poured the coffee into cups for the two of them. Another glance and Logan caught the slight shake of Holmes' head. "Honestly thought about leaving. But then I remembered I promised you could have a taste of my dick and I ain't gonna back outta a promise like that."

"Is that the only reason?" Holmes hummed, entering the kitchen fully now as he approached Logan to take the offered cup from him.

"No." Logan said, expression softening slightly as he turned to lean against the kitchen counter, hand out to pull Holmes in. "But I ain't gonna tell you my other reasons."

"Reasons. As in more than one." Holmes settled beside Logan, pressed against his side as he sipped his coffee. His eyes fondly moved over Logan's bare chest, eager to see the bite marks he was sure he left… only to find nothing there. Reaching out, Holmes brushed fingers against Logan's skin as his lips dipped into a confused frown. It had to be powder; he was hiding the marks. But he pulled his hand back, fingers rubbing together without any sort of cover up. And then he recalled the wrist incident that hadn't fully been explained. This time, Holmes didn't let Logan avoid the question by asking him directly. "How do you heal so quickly?"

"Ah, shit." Logan sighed, setting his cup down as he turned back to the stove. "You pay a lot more attention than my other fucks."

"I am a detective. Answer my question."

"Lock, I'm trying to be nice, making you breakfast an' all, the least you could do is-"

"Logan."

Silence fell as Logan focused on stirring the beans, lips pressed together as he most likely floundered for an explanation, false or not. He needed to give Holmes something. "M'different from most people."

When Logan didn't explain further, Holmes pressed, moving closer. "Different how?"

"Different 'cause I heal fast." Logan told him tensely, but it sounded like there was more and Logan was wrestling with how much he could trust Holmes. Sensing this hesitation, Holmed set his cup down ad well, wrapping his arms around Logan in a wordless promise that he meant no harm. That he had no intention of leaving no matter what it was. It seemed to be enough because Logan sighed. "And… 'cause I got these."

Holding up a fist so Holmes could see over his shoulder, Logan extended three pointed bone claws from the skin between his knuckles. He turned them towards the light of day coming through the kitchen window behind them so Holmes could see every detail. And then he waited tensely, like he was waiting for Holmes to call him a beast. A monster. An animal. He'd heard it all before.

But it never came. Holmes only lifted his head from where it lay on Logan's shoulder to ensure his eyes weren't playing tricks. Then he reached out a hand as if to touch them but Logan retracted before he could get close, his hand healing almost instantly.

Again, silence settled in the room. Thick and tense as one processed what he had seen and the other waited for the condemnation. Instead, Holmes returned his hand to clasp around Logan's waist, his head resting against his shoulder and he murmured an astonished, "The medicinal benefits if one could egfectively isolate your healing ability… you… you could save countless lives."

Logan paused in his breakfast preparation again to look over his shoulder at Holmes, almost as if he was positive there was no way he was being serious. But Holmes' expression was one of genuine excitement. Wonder. The gears in his head already working out possible formulas.

Before Logan could really speak, Holmes was looking at him expectantly. "Can I collect a sample?"

"This… that… I've never gotten that response before…" Logan admitted, still in mild bewilderment from Holmes's immediate acceptance. "I don't really save people, I ain't a hero or anythin'. But, if it makes ya happy, sure, I guess. Only!" He stopped Holmes from getting ahead of himself. "We're eating breakfast first. I made this whole English breakfast y'all can't shut up about, so we're gonna eat it. Beans and toast, what the hell is that?"

Breakfast passed with Logan complaining about the food and Holmes trying to explain the tradition with what little cuisine history he knew. Honestly, he didn't know where beans and toast originated, but it was a comfort food nonetheless. After they finished, Holmes couldn't ignore his need to investigate, to understand something so completely new, and he peppered Logan with questions about his abilities. It only took a few for Logan to turn defensive and begin to retreat, at which point Holmes moved closer and physically touched Logan. A gentle hand and an admiring kiss. Holmes was only curious, there was no malice to his questioning.

After that, Holmes laid the questions out. They would discuss Holmes' interests, Holmes would offer a vulnerability in exchange for Logan to open up about what little he knew of his own mutation. By nightfall, Logan was lounging back on the couch, features softened by the glow of the fire and skin warmed by good whiskey. Holmes had his legs propped on his lap, furiously scribbling notes as he recalled everything Logan had told him. For this information, Holmes had divulged his family situation, his brief stint with the woman, and his unrequited love for his former roommate. Yet the sharing of such secrets didn't bother him. Not with Logan. He wanted Logan to know all this; he wanted to tell Logan everything. Pausing in his notes, Holmes rested his head against the back of the couch, just watching Logan as he paged through a book he had taken off the shelf.

"My true love hath my heart," Logan read aloud, and Holmes had to take a moment to realize he had said anything at all.

"Pardon?"

"It's a poem- uh. Sonnet, in here." Logan explained, looking the lines over again. "My true love hath my heart, and I have his… the rest is sorta confusin' but I like that line. My true love hath my heart,"

"And I have his." Holmes finished, and Logan looked over at him, the two of them sharing a smile of mutual interest and feeling. After a moment, Holmes set the notes down, shifting on the couch so he was nearly in Logan's lap. "Stay with me."

"Tonight?"

"Forever." The word left his lips before he could really consider it. But, Logan did have that remarkable effect on him. The ability to just feel instead of calculate. "Or as long as you like. It's a suggestion. I… I would like you to stay."

The silence between them was no longer awkward or tense. It was always one of contemplation, of consideration as Logan just watched the way the fire danced in Holmes' eyes. Sherlock's eyes. His hands brushed against Holmes' still bare thighs. They hardly bothered getting dressed that day, content as they were and happy to find no bothersome clothes in their way when seized with a fit of desire. By sunset they had lost count of how many times they had come together. And still, every touch was like the first time, sending sparks of heat straight through Holmes as he held Logan's gaze. Thumb tracing an arch against lustly bitten skin, Logan nodded. "I'd like that… but I'm not eating beans an' toast again."

A soft laugh and a murmured promise he wouldn't have to before Holmes was leaning in and kissing him like everything was finally right with the world.


End file.
